


Party Under Jupiter

by gala_apples



Series: Get Glee Laid [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Kurt doesn’t think he’s been asked this many questions in one sitting in all his life. That they’re all about his sexuality while he’s just tipsy enough to answer makes it all the odder.Set during 1x05- Rhodes Not Taken





	Party Under Jupiter

Kurt is drunk. He is one hundred and twenty percent drunk, thank you very much. He is as drunk as a skunk, except he smells divine and looks better. No musks or tacky vertical stripes for him. 

The only problem with getting drunk at school is he’s stuck at school. His mom is dead, he’s not killing anyone else’s mom drunk driving. And there’s not a chance his stylish shoes will hold up to any significant walking. At the beginning of the week it was enough to simply go to class. It was a thrill to fool everyone into believing him sober. Kurt’s always thought that McKinley teachers are stupid, but Mr Chambers not responding to his hiccuping was the nail in the coffin. That doesn’t interest him anymore. It doesn’t seem fun anymore. 

There simply has to be something fun to do at school while drunk. It doesn’t matter that Kurt can’t think of anything himself. That’s what consultants are for. Dumb, bad boy consultants with poor taste in hair and wardrobe who have no doubt been drunk at school a hundred times before. When you get suspended for three days for setting off fireworks in the teacher’s lounge, public intoxication doesn’t seem as taboo. Kurt would never set off fireworks. He just likes things not being awful.

“Noah Puckerman. Just the boy I wanted to see.”

“What are you talking about, Lady Hummel?”

“Come on Noah, plan out my day for me.”

“Well, first I’m gonna dumpster you, then I’m going to slushie you, then I’m going to pickpocket you, then-”

Kurt rolls his eyes. The sheer force of his expression doesn’t push Puck into silence. Unfair, he’s been practicing looks in the mirror like Tyra suggests. Holy crap can he smize. 

The next best thing is reaching out and physically stopping Puck mid-ramble with a thumb on his lips. It works so well that Puck actually takes a step back so he’s no longer being touched.

“I’m drunk and I want suggestions for the rest of my day.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? That makes it different. An in school party, huh? Yeah, Puckzilla can provide. First things first though, we gotta get my boy.” Puck punctuates the statement by pulling out his phone and sending a text.

Kurt knows better than to say one more syllable. One dropped in ‘friend’ and Puck’s gayer than he is. It makes him smirk, to think of it. He cannot possibly say it. He’ll get tossed in a dumpster fifteen times before Puck allows his hetero honour to be impugned. It’s close though, drunk amusement fighting with life-saving common sense. He’s had to tell himself to shut up half a dozen times before they’ve arrived at where Puck’s arranged the meet up and Finn is suddenly in front of them.

“We’re bringing back Operation Geebin Jim!” Puck announces, voice echoing in the hallway that’s otherwise empty.

“Oh awesome. Drinking sounds just great right now.”

Kurt’s happy that Finn’s happy -the taller boy is so much hotter with a smile on his face- but he’s confused. “What’s Jeeping Jim?”

“No. Geebin. Garbage bin. The old buzzard janitor keeps his stash under the garbage bags in a few select bins, because what teenager is going to check for gold under three feet of half-empty pudding containers, rotting lunch meat sandwiches, and whatever random shit the caf’s got going on?”

“That’s my boy,” Finn says, bodychecking Puck. Kurt tenses, used to that being an aggressive move. Drunk or not, he can still see danger. But Puck doesn’t respond badly. It takes a second to realise that straight boys view aggression as affection. Idiots.

Kurt follows in the wake of the two boisterous guys in front of him. They’ve obviously done this before, because Finn goes directly to a certain bin that doesn’t look any different than the others, now that Kurt’s actually looking at them for the first time since he started at McKinley. Standing there, Finn and Puck quickly have a rock paper scissors competition, which Puck loses with paper. With a grimace he grabs the edges of the black bag and hauls it upwards, leaving enough of a gap that Finn can stick his hand into the depths of the bin and pull out a bottle.

“Now what?” Kurt asks.

“Now we go to astronomy class. They’ve only got one class a day, but Marsh is crazier than Sylvester. He took a swing the last time someone erased his chalkboard. But he’s got tenure so they can’t do shit, so they just let him keep the classroom.”

“I’m never taking astrology. That man’s way too freaky. I don’t care why Pluto isn’t a planet anymore.”

Kurt definitely has dumb jock bias, because if Puck had said astrology instead of astronomy he would have called him out. But Finn’s too cute to embarrass. Kurt would pinch his cheek if he didn’t think he’d get punched in the face for it.

The astronomy class is empty, as promised. Who knows where Mr Marsh has gone, and who cares? Kurt is more than acquainted with the idea of teachers at this school being completely useless. A teacher who doesn’t keep classroom hours is hardly the worst offence.

The decor of the room makes Kurt feel like he’s in fourth grade. It’s all simplified star charts and diagrams of the layers of a planet and a massive scaled model of the solar system hanging from the ceiling. The layout of the desks is pretty grade school too. Instead of everything facing front, the desks make a large U, the left facing the right. Kurt slops himself into a navy plastic chair, too drunk to care about the normal elegance of his presentation. Finn pulls out a chair beside him and sits. Puck, always having to be the rebel, even in pathetic ways, pulls Kurt’s desk away from him a bit and sits on top of it.

Puck pushes the big glass bottle against Kurt’s lips. The rim of the bottle is dry, even though Finn just took a sip. Kurt turns his head away. “I’m already drunk.”

“That’s not how this game works. We don’t drink until we’re drunk. We drink until the keg’s dry.” Puck nudges the bottle again. This time Kurt opens his lips around it and drinks. It burns going down. Kurt says so.

“That’s because Jimmy likes cheap ass gin. April’s probably got you drinking flavoured rum, or something else gay.”

Finn perks up. “Yeah, about that.”

“About what?”

“Gay stuff. Why do you even like me? I’m not like you. I don’t care about clothes or how moisturized my skin is.”

Shockingly, Puck is the one to reply. “But if you put it like that, you’re not like Quinn either. You don’t watch what you eat or read books on purpose.”

Finn takes a swig. He winces a little at the taste, then frowns at Puck. “Dude, are you trying to get Kurt to win?”

Puck shrugs. “I’m just saying the soulmates argument doesn’t work with Quinn either.”

“So? Even if it doesn’t, doesn’t mean I’m gay. I don’t even know what gay guys do.”

A week ago Kurt didn’t know either, besides fall in love with other boys. But April Rhodes didn’t just give him a refilled flask every morning. He’s got a stack of magazines now. “April gave me visuals,” Kurt says, then hiccups.

“April gave me and Mike visuals too,” Puck leers and elbows Finn. Finn lets Puck touch him. Kurt feels kinda jealous. None of the guys he’s ever had a crush on have let him touch them. For as long as he can remember there’s been a big no touching zone around him.

Finn attempts to get back on topic, where the topic is Kurt’s nonexistent sex life. “Is it all butt stuff? Because that doesn’t make sense to me. Butts are outies, not innies.”

Puck answers before he can. Not that Kurt would have known what to say. Thanks to Finn’s phrasing his entire brain is all caught up in bellybutton butts and umbilical cords. “Stupid. All guys like blowjobs, gay or straight. Gay guys just give and get instead of just get.”

“So you blow guys?”

Kurt suddenly feels like the whole world is watching him, not just Puck and Finn. “My kind in general? Yes. Me specifically? No.”

“What? That’s bunk. Gay guys are slutty, everyone knows that.”

“I’m the only gay guy at McKinley,” Kurt points out.

“So blow some straight guy then!”

Kurt has no idea why Puck’s suddenly shouting at him, but he has to laugh. “I’ve been trying! Duh!”

“So you don’t want to date and gay love Hudson here, you just want to blow him?”

The truth is that Kurt totally loves him. He’d write Kurt Hudson on his notebooks if he didn’t have to worry about what the jocks might see the next time they slapped his stuff out of his hands. But his drunk instinct tells him to lie, to lie lie lie, so he does.

“A boy’s gotta lose his virginity somehow.”

Puck turns on Finn. “You hear that? A boy’s gotta lose his virginity somehow.”

“Uh... Do you have a gag reflex?” Finn asks him.

“I dunno.” It’s not like he has a collection of dildos at home on his vanity to practice on. Do they even make dildos in grey to match his decor? “I’m drunk. Does a gag reflex get better or worse when you’re drunk?”

Puck shrugs. “I’ve seen it go both ways. Can’t know until you try, right?”

He’s all but pushing Kurt at Finn, but Kurt really doesn’t mind. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that Puck’s somehow making happen. He can be as pushy as he wants.

“I just don’t want to make you puke.”

While Kurt doesn’t particularly want to puke either, he’s sure Finn’s manhood in his mouth would be worth it. “So worth it.”

“See? Go for it Hudson.”

Technically speaking, Kurt’s the one who actually goes for it. At Finn’s nod he pushes his chair further away from the desk so he can kneel on the floor, temporarily allowing the filth of the linoleum to tarnish his beautiful pants. The sound of Finn’s zipper gliding down almost makes his head spin.

It’s not the best thing that’s ever happened to him. In fact, Kurt’s pretty sure he wouldn’t like it half as much if it wasn’t Finn. But it is, and the weird taste is no weirder than all the alcohol he’s sampled, and Puck watching isn’t all that off putting. Kurt’s always enjoyed being one to put on a performance. Also, it feels oddly safer like this. Like if inexperienced Finn does something wrong, sexpert Puck will fix things.

From Kurt’s perspective it doesn’t take long. But then he’s bad with time sober, and being drunk isn’t helping. And it makes sense that a person would react quicker to a blowjob than self-stimulation. Or maybe Kurt just takes abnormally long, and Finn is the average. No matter the explanation, he’s on his feet taking a kleenex from Marsh’s desk in a few short minutes.

“I don’t think I can blow you back,” Finn says in the silence after the act.

“Come on dude,” Puck frowns. “How’s that fair?”

“No, I understand.” Even tipsy Kurt’s got enough short term memory to realise that Finn never said he’d reciprocate. He’s too straight to reciprocate. Huh. That rhymes.

“Dude, no. That’s shitty. At least hold him or something,” Puck complains.

Not expecting it, Kurt stumbles when Puck pushes him. For a moment fear sparks through his drunken haze. This seems like a bad time to start gay bashing, but when has Noah Puckerman ever cared about timing? 

Finn catches him. Finn has him, and not just to take his jacket so it doesn't get affected when Puck lays into him. He actually spoons him, nestling Kurt against his chest with big football arms. Kurt didn’t even know you could spoon standing up.

His mind rips away from that curiosity a minute later. Puck’s taken a few deep breaths, throwing his weight from foot to foot like he’s trying to psyche himself up for something. That event turns out to be pulling down Kurt’s zipper. All of a sudden Puck’s hand is touching him. Puck is stroking him, and it’s not like masturbating, he can’t tell what’s going to happen next. Kurt wants to twitch, needs to arch his body and roll his hips, but Finn is still holding him, and his hold gets intrinsically tighter with each movement of Kurt’s. It’s impossible to move, and Puck’s hand is getting faster, grip rippling and changing, and if this is what Puck does to himself no wonder he turned into a sex demon post-puberty. This technique could make Kurt want to masturbate three times a day instead of once a week.

He doesn't scream. He doesn’t groan or moan or curse. He doesn’t even whimper. When he comes on Puck’s fingers he just collapses. It doesn’t matter that he’s standing instead of fully supported by a bed. Finn’s got him. Kurt sucks in a few breaths, and though he doesn’t believe in God, blesses April Rhodes with all of his atheist heart.

The bell signalling the end of the period rings, and Finn carefully lets go of him. He’s somewhat of a better student than Puck -or at least he cares more about not disappointing his parents- and despite Puck’s ragging insists he has to go to his next class. Kurt doesn’t know how many notes Finn’s going to get written when he’s had as many glugs of gin as he has, but all the luck to him.

Kurt, on the other hand, is in no rush to get away. He’s post orgasmic, sweaty and sticky, and sloshed enough for the normal tactile issues to be low priority. Instead there are other things he cares about.

“I don’t get it,” Kurt informs him. In this state there are really a lot of things he doesn’t get, starting with how his surroundings are diagonal and wavy, but he can’t question physics. He can question Puck. “Why’d you do that for me?”

Puck shrugs. “Everyone needs someone looking for their best interests when they’re wasted. Plus if Finn gets with you, that leaves Quinn alone. Cue Puckzilla.”

“Okay, but he didn’t actually touch me. If anything you were converted, not him.” Not that Kurt really wants Puck as a boyfriend. A handjob buddy, maybe.

“Nah. I did it because it was no big deal, not because it was hot. But it kinda _was_ and Finn was who was all intimate the whole time. There’s no way that shit didn’t affect him.”

“I’m crossing my fingers.” Except he’s not, because he’s lost his fine motor movement. But the sentiment is there. All he wanted was an in school party, but maybe he’s gotten a bi-curious boyfriend. Wouldn’t that just be great?


End file.
